Fic; The Truth of The Lie
Title: The Truth of The Lie
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Mycroft and Sherlock
Word Count: 1184
Suumary: It's vital that Sherlock's survival remain a secret. Of course Mycroft knows what to do.
Tim moves from his seat on the teal bedding to the navy cushion of the bedside chair, none of it feels right. His surroundings are too soft and itchy on his skin. And the doctors say it’s all in his head. He goes to stand by the window, to look outside his hospital room. The outside is less wrong, for a while at least. Then there is a man falling past his window onto a piece of giant inflatable bouncy castle.
There is too much blue.
A corpse lands on the ground, to distract. People move like spinning tops and a new body on the pavement is being painted with blood.
It’s with the weary certainty of someone living in a psych ward that he realises these are things that are actually happening.
*
Sherlock sits opposite his brother. Mycroft sits silently, flipping through a file- an inherent darkness in their eyes at the subject matter. Or perhaps just at their happenstance in general. He gives Sherlock a pointed look.
“You shouldn’t have told Anderson.”
Sherlock waves his hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter how many times he pulls my story apart and puts it back together; he won’t come up with the truth.”
“Maybe no. But you shouldn’t underestimate him. The most obvious falsehood may lead to the only possible truth.”
“Obvious to you and I yes, but Anderson didn’t list it in the immediate litany that sprang to his mind.”
“Did you have to mention the blockade?”
“Of course; it was the most impressive part. Do listen, I mentioned this already; Anderson won’t think about details like John getting through the barrier while all others didn’t.”
Mycroft sighs and looks back at the file.
In reality there had only been one way to ensure the secret was kept: by keeping people quiet using whatever means necessary.
*
Tim watches the people milling down below. Sees the press speak to the witnesses and watches people, (casually dressed people with no hint of the sharp suits, ear wigs or sunglasses he’s sure they usually wear) usher certain witnesses towards the press and other witnesses away. From their gestures they seem to be conversing politely and charmingly with all present. Tim wonders how much more violent it would be if he could hear what they are saying. Very much so, he thinks, by everyone’s’ eagerness to cooperate.
It’s just the beginning. He often watches at that window, day after day, sees things others don’t. Sees how they reshape the reality of the event.
He’s released from the ward on a Friday. He goes online, goes here and there, looking in the places no one else does. There are two interviews with Sherlock Holmes’ brother, both of which are the epitome of uninteresting; as though they were crafted to be so. No interview at all would speak much louder.
He posts an innocuous comment in an obscure blog post, because he’s too smart to say it anywhere that it would be noticed (the right people will notice it of course but they will be unconcerned with its placement), mentioning that Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft Holmes, is the one behind it all. He says it simply so it’s said; in a way it’s a declaration of his sanity.
*
Mycroft is meticulous when it comes to the methodology of keeping said people quiet. Four hundred and three people are made to sign non-disclosure agreements (with various terrible consequences for violation). These people include: the people on the pavement who’d just left the buildings, people inside the hospital, the media interviewing the witnesses, the people outside the blockade who noticed the time discrepancy, the people removed from the area who noticed a lack of anyone on any roof yet. The homeless network. The people running the blockade, the cab driver who had to get John through without him noticing the blockade. The cab driver who had to get Moriarty through without him noticing the blockade. The people running the conspiracy theory websites, the plants in Anderson’s ‘The Empty Hearse’ group. And of course the military/government/spy agents charged with executing said terrible consequences.
And every threat lest they break said agreement is tailor made to ensure compliance. Three hundred and fifty two people sign a basic non-disclosure agreement regarding information that’s sensitive to national security- it states that any breach of which will result in prison time. Eighteen people are also threatened with the revelation of their secrets (Mycroft knows those ones will need extra incentive). Fifteen people are told their lives will be ruined, everything they love torn away, their entire being discredited and disgraced. Only nine people are threatened with being violently disappeared.
In the end seventeen people have to be discredited. (Discrediting is always preferable to death. Death speaks rather loudly the truth one is attempting to hide). But two people do have to be violently disappeared (as far as their loved ones are concerned they’ve got a new job in the middle of nowhere with no mobile phone reception). And one is brainwashed into thinking he’s a rabbit.
*
When Tim joins The Empty Hearse, that’s the first time anyone comes to see him. It isn’t one of the obscure agents. It’s Mycroft himself, he’s sure of it. The man is there, a somehow solid implacable shadow, blurring across Tim’s vision in a silent unspoken promise. Tim still continues up the steps. No one stops him.
He’s surprised when no further retaliation exerts itself. Maybe they have an understanding, a stalemate.
He sits amidst the group, listening to their ideas; each more outlandish than the last. He offers nothing himself; his contribution would be dismissed as mundane, unimaginative.
*
However, Mycroft leaves most people to say whatever they want. These are the people who didn’t know enough for anything they said to matter, all idle supposition and guess work. And it helps to drown out anyone actually saying anything important. He also has his own people throwing out conspiracy theories; for every person who suggests that Sherlock fell onto a giant blue inflatable thing, there are five suggesting bungee cords, or trap doors or dummies.
Every person in the media industry knows something. It’s the only way to ensure nothing of significance will actually be said.
Every person who knows tells other people, sometimes only one or two, impressing on them the importance of staying silent, some tell rooms, chatting casually. Some speak in hushed whispers, looking over their shoulder and some post detailed blogs. Mycroft allows the spread, carefully curtailing the directions it goes, the more talk there is the less it means. All the while ensuring the important people see it as nothing but idle ridiculous gossip.
They are all stories layered in stories; even when Sherlock returns- the fall will stay shrouded in myth.
*
Tim comes across Anderson clawing at his conspiracy theory board; there are scraps of paper in his hands. Something has happened. He looks around, trying to figure out what; as always he goes unnoticed, deemed unimportant. When Tim comes across the recording he smiles, tucks it into his pocket and simply walks away.
Fandom: Sherlock
Characters: Mycroft and Sherlock
Word Count: 1184
Suumary: It's vital that Sherlock's survival remain a secret. Of course Mycroft knows what to do.
Tim moves from his seat on the teal bedding to the navy cushion of the bedside chair, none of it feels right. His surroundings are too soft and itchy on his skin. And the doctors say it’s all in his head. He goes to stand by the window, to look outside his hospital room. The outside is less wrong, for a while at least. Then there is a man falling past his window onto a piece of giant inflatable bouncy castle.
There is too much blue.
A corpse lands on the ground, to distract. People move like spinning tops and a new body on the pavement is being painted with blood.
It’s with the weary certainty of someone living in a psych ward that he realises these are things that are actually happening.
*
Sherlock sits opposite his brother. Mycroft sits silently, flipping through a file- an inherent darkness in their eyes at the subject matter. Or perhaps just at their happenstance in general. He gives Sherlock a pointed look.
“You shouldn’t have told Anderson.”
Sherlock waves his hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter how many times he pulls my story apart and puts it back together; he won’t come up with the truth.”
“Maybe no. But you shouldn’t underestimate him. The most obvious falsehood may lead to the only possible truth.”
“Obvious to you and I yes, but Anderson didn’t list it in the immediate litany that sprang to his mind.”
“Did you have to mention the blockade?”
“Of course; it was the most impressive part. Do listen, I mentioned this already; Anderson won’t think about details like John getting through the barrier while all others didn’t.”
Mycroft sighs and looks back at the file.
In reality there had only been one way to ensure the secret was kept: by keeping people quiet using whatever means necessary.
*
Tim watches the people milling down below. Sees the press speak to the witnesses and watches people, (casually dressed people with no hint of the sharp suits, ear wigs or sunglasses he’s sure they usually wear) usher certain witnesses towards the press and other witnesses away. From their gestures they seem to be conversing politely and charmingly with all present. Tim wonders how much more violent it would be if he could hear what they are saying. Very much so, he thinks, by everyone’s’ eagerness to cooperate.
It’s just the beginning. He often watches at that window, day after day, sees things others don’t. Sees how they reshape the reality of the event.
He’s released from the ward on a Friday. He goes online, goes here and there, looking in the places no one else does. There are two interviews with Sherlock Holmes’ brother, both of which are the epitome of uninteresting; as though they were crafted to be so. No interview at all would speak much louder.
He posts an innocuous comment in an obscure blog post, because he’s too smart to say it anywhere that it would be noticed (the right people will notice it of course but they will be unconcerned with its placement), mentioning that Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft Holmes, is the one behind it all. He says it simply so it’s said; in a way it’s a declaration of his sanity.
*
Mycroft is meticulous when it comes to the methodology of keeping said people quiet. Four hundred and three people are made to sign non-disclosure agreements (with various terrible consequences for violation). These people include: the people on the pavement who’d just left the buildings, people inside the hospital, the media interviewing the witnesses, the people outside the blockade who noticed the time discrepancy, the people removed from the area who noticed a lack of anyone on any roof yet. The homeless network. The people running the blockade, the cab driver who had to get John through without him noticing the blockade. The cab driver who had to get Moriarty through without him noticing the blockade. The people running the conspiracy theory websites, the plants in Anderson’s ‘The Empty Hearse’ group. And of course the military/government/spy agents charged with executing said terrible consequences.
And every threat lest they break said agreement is tailor made to ensure compliance. Three hundred and fifty two people sign a basic non-disclosure agreement regarding information that’s sensitive to national security- it states that any breach of which will result in prison time. Eighteen people are also threatened with the revelation of their secrets (Mycroft knows those ones will need extra incentive). Fifteen people are told their lives will be ruined, everything they love torn away, their entire being discredited and disgraced. Only nine people are threatened with being violently disappeared.
In the end seventeen people have to be discredited. (Discrediting is always preferable to death. Death speaks rather loudly the truth one is attempting to hide). But two people do have to be violently disappeared (as far as their loved ones are concerned they’ve got a new job in the middle of nowhere with no mobile phone reception). And one is brainwashed into thinking he’s a rabbit.
*
When Tim joins The Empty Hearse, that’s the first time anyone comes to see him. It isn’t one of the obscure agents. It’s Mycroft himself, he’s sure of it. The man is there, a somehow solid implacable shadow, blurring across Tim’s vision in a silent unspoken promise. Tim still continues up the steps. No one stops him.
He’s surprised when no further retaliation exerts itself. Maybe they have an understanding, a stalemate.
He sits amidst the group, listening to their ideas; each more outlandish than the last. He offers nothing himself; his contribution would be dismissed as mundane, unimaginative.
*
However, Mycroft leaves most people to say whatever they want. These are the people who didn’t know enough for anything they said to matter, all idle supposition and guess work. And it helps to drown out anyone actually saying anything important. He also has his own people throwing out conspiracy theories; for every person who suggests that Sherlock fell onto a giant blue inflatable thing, there are five suggesting bungee cords, or trap doors or dummies.
Every person in the media industry knows something. It’s the only way to ensure nothing of significance will actually be said.
Every person who knows tells other people, sometimes only one or two, impressing on them the importance of staying silent, some tell rooms, chatting casually. Some speak in hushed whispers, looking over their shoulder and some post detailed blogs. Mycroft allows the spread, carefully curtailing the directions it goes, the more talk there is the less it means. All the while ensuring the important people see it as nothing but idle ridiculous gossip.
They are all stories layered in stories; even when Sherlock returns- the fall will stay shrouded in myth.
*
Tim comes across Anderson clawing at his conspiracy theory board; there are scraps of paper in his hands. Something has happened. He looks around, trying to figure out what; as always he goes unnoticed, deemed unimportant. When Tim comes across the recording he smiles, tucks it into his pocket and simply walks away.